Diary of a Wedding Planner in Love (Tales Behind the Veils Book 2)

by Howe, Violet

  Wednesday, January 8th

  Cabe came over tonight to cook dinner and watch a movie. Dinner wasn't the only thing that ended up cooking, though. We had finished eating and were maybe a third of the way through the movie. Some stupid, slapstick comedy easily ignored. I had been lying against Cabe, my head on his chest and his arm wrapped around my shoulders as he reclined against the back of the couch. He kissed the top of my head and I turned to look up at him, and that was all she wrote.

  We tore into each other like we'd been stranded in a jungle for days and suddenly wandered upon a feast. Nothing tentative, shy, or polite about it. I'm talking covering half your face, tongues and lips and teeth kind of kissing. I sat up to face him and give the task at hand my undivided attention, and he literally just lifted me up and settled me in a straddle over his lap. More like unsettled me, really. After all, there is nothing at all settling about straddling a hot guy right across the hottest part of him while he strokes his hands up and down your back underneath your shirt and gives you the most erotic dental inspection of your life with his tongue.

  I slid my knees a little wider apart, grinding against him as my teeth nipped at his bottom lip. He responded with a deep groan as he pulled me closer and slid his thumbs around the front of my stomach. I arched toward him as he trailed kisses down my neck and inside the collar of my shirt. I shuddered as though a chill had run across my skin, but no part of me felt remotely cold. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  I wouldn't say I have a ton of experience, but I'm no prude either. I've made out on some couches in my day, and I can tell you I've usually had my mind elsewhere while it was happening. Maybe I felt uncomfortable because I was on bottom and being smushed into a couch with my arm trapped on one side. I might have been self-conscious about my weight if I was on top of the guy, or my breath as we went at it face-to-face. Sometimes I obsessed over how far things would go and when and how to shut it down. Or something would happen like the hooks of my bra getting stuck and the guy couldn't get them undone without help. It's never as smooth and romantic in real life as it appears to be in the movies. Or so I thought.

  Let me tell you, there was absolutely none of that chatter going on in my head tonight. My sole thought and purpose was entirely consumed with Cabe.

  Touching him, tasting him, feeling him, needing him. I couldn't get enough of him. I wanted to pull him inside me. Not just in the literal sex sense of inside me—although that was certainly on my radar—but like all of him and all of me coming together. No separation, no division, no holding back. Just melting into each other until there was no more him and no more me. Just us. I wanted to completely surround him, envelop him, and never let him go.

  When I write it, it sounds like a bad scene in a body-snatching alien movie, but it's how I felt. I wanted to just wrap him up until he became a part of me. I couldn't hold him tight enough. Couldn't kiss him deep enough. Couldn't press myself against him hard enough.

  I'm sure we bumped elbows and smashed noses. Struggled with a zipper or hook here or there. But I honestly have no memories other than just the passion of wanting Cabe. None of the rest of it mattered.

  He flipped me over on my back and stretched out on top of me, his long body surpassing the length of the couch. My shirt had long ago been tossed aside with my bra, and heat emanated from our bare chests pressed together with a light sheen of perspiration. We both had been unzipped and undone, and I thought I knew where we were headed and what was coming next. But then Cabe raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at me smiling.

  I leaned forward and kissed him again, but when he didn't follow me back down, I laid my head back on the couch and grinned at him.

  "What?" I asked, never comfortable with awkward silences. Especially when I was lying half-nude beneath a guy with my heart and pulse racing uncontrollably in anticipation of his next touch.

  "Just looking at you." He propped his chin in his palm and stared at me, the smile never leaving his face.

  "Umm. Okay. Why?"

  "I just think you're beautiful, and I wanted to take a moment to look at you. To see you. To appreciate you."

  "Thanks?" It came out as a question because I was asking a lot of them in my head.

  Granted, it was an awesome, wonderful statement for a guy to make. Kudos to him. But in that moment, it wasn't what I wanted to hear. Doubts and chatter immediately filled my head. I thought we'd been headed there. I thought we were of the same mind and purpose. What had stopped him? Had he changed his mind? Did I do something wrong? I could tell by the bulge between us he was still interested, so why the sudden change in pace and the need to stop and stare?

  His weight was heavy as it pressed me into the couch, even though I hadn't felt it moments before. I couldn't take a full breath, but I didn't dare move or shift because I didn't want him to stand up. I didn't understand why he had applied the brakes so abruptly.

  Cabe kissed me again, but gently. Softly. Tenderly. Completely removed from the insane frenetic pace we'd engaged in moments before.

  His tongue pressed against my lips, ever so easily nudging them apart. He teased with it, a little flick here, a little plunge there, and the fire reignited in me, begging to rage out of control.

  "I want you, Tyler." His voice was deep. Guttural. Barely above a whisper, and yet I heard it with every fiber of my being.

  I arched up against him and sighed, wondering if it could be possible he wasn't aware of how I felt.

  "I want you, too."

  He pulled his lips from mine and smiled again, our faces so close I couldn't focus on his expression. His lips opened, closed for a brief second, and then opened again as he spoke.

  "I'm going to go."

  Okay, that is so not what I thought he was going to say. It was like a needle had skipped across a record player and stopped the music.

  "What? Go? Go where?" I tried to lean back so I could see him clearly, but I could only push my head so far into the couch.

  Cabe chuckled and rolled off of me and onto his knees on the floor next to the couch. I struggled to sit up and he extended his hand to help me, conveniently planting a kiss on my breast as it passed him on my way up. He didn't let go of my hand and instead kissed my palm and all five fingers as I reached for my shirt, suddenly self-conscious of being nude from the waist up.

  He took my hand as soon as I had my shirt over my head, kissing my palm again and holding it against his cheek.

  "I'm going home, Beautiful."

  "Why?" I didn't understand why he had changed gears so suddenly. Was it something I did? Something I said? No, couldn't be that. I hadn't said anything.

  "Because I want you more than I've ever wanted anything in my life, Tyler Warren. I want to take you back there to that bedroom and devour you and never come up for air. And if I don't leave right now, that's what'll happen and there'll be no going back."

  Okay, and that's a problem because? Why on earth would we want to go back? I thought it, but couldn't get my mouth to form the words. I stared at him, willing him to change his mind and get back to the devouring part. Or at least to say something that made more sense.

  "I don't understand," I finally whispered.

  "I don't want any regrets between us, Tyler. I can wait."

  "What regrets? What if I don't want you to wait?"

  He took me in his arms and squeezed me against him as he kissed the top of my head.

  "I don't want to wait either, Buttercup. But I want to do the right thing. I want it to be right for us."

  "And this is wrong?" I pushed against him to make him look at me.

  "Not wrong. But not the way I want it to be. It's been a long road for us to get to this point. I don't want to rush anything. You mean too much to me to do that."

  I started to tell him five years wasn't exactly rushing things, but I didn't want to beg him to stay. I wasn't at all sure what he meant by the way he wanted it to be. But he had said no, and I needed to respect that. I also needed a cold show
er as soon as he left.

  I don't know if I have ever had the guy be the one to put on the brakes and say he didn't want to rush things. Am I in some alternate universe here? Have we switched roles? Because tonight, I would have so jumped that man's bones in a heartbeat, to use his words.

  After all, we were already in the process of some mutual bone-jumping. One minute we were on the couch half undressed and kissing, petting, fondling and groping, and the next minute he's walking out the door with a smile on his face. A bit of a strained smile, and I'm sure a set of brilliant blue ones in his jeans, but he chose to walk away. I don't get it. Is this his weird concept of being a gentleman? Because I think I would have rather had the knave tonight.

  Thursday, January 9th

  We met at the animal shelter after work, and I probably should have agreed to change the service project to beach clean-up. So many adorable doggies. I wanted to bring them all home with me. We bathed a few and played with some others. A couple just wanted to be held. One made it very clear he didn't want us to come near him at all.

  It was dirty work, and we left covered in hair and doggy smell. But I loved every minute of it. I've missed having a pet so much. I can't believe I haven't volunteered there sooner.

  We signed up to go back next month and left behind wagging tails and inquisitive noses along with a little piece of my heart.

  "You were great with the dogs," I said to Cabe as we stood by our cars in the shelter parking lot.

  "They were awesome. Especially Kipper. Did you see the way he kept taking the ball from Laila? So freakin' funny. He didn't want to go catch the ball and bring it back. But if she got it, he took it immediately. Just to hide it from her. Cracked me up."

  "So you still think you wouldn't want a dog?" I asked.

  "Tyler, it's not that I don't like dogs. I just think it's too big of a commitment. I wouldn't want to be tied down or plan my entire schedule around a dog. That's all."

  "But it's not like your entire life shuts down because you get a dog. You can still go places. Do things."

  "Look here, Buttercup. If you want a dog, get a dog. I don't want a dog. I'm happy to come here. Play with them. Help take care of them. Donate money to get what they need. But I don't want a dog. I don't want the commitment."

  Now, right there I should have just shut my mouth. I don't know why I was taking it so personally that Cabe didn't want a dog. I mean, hell, it's not like I was ready to take a dog home, either. With my schedule I'd never see the poor thing, and it would be crossing its legs by the door on my long wedding days.

  But it irked me that he was so adamant about not wanting it. I don't know if in my head he was somehow refusing our future dog and therefore our future life, but I got pissed. I didn't drop it.

  "Fine. God forbid you have a commitment you have to actually stick to." I regretted it as soon as I said it. He flinched and looked at me with hurt evident in the blue depths of his eyes.

  "Wow. Let me just pull this little dagger out of my back. I didn't see that coming."

  "I'm sorry, Cabe. I didn't mean that. I don't know why I said it." Which was actually true for the most part. Looking back on the conversation as I write this, I don't know why the dog thing bothered me so much. Or why I felt the need to jab him about the commitment thing. I guess I was just being a bitch.

  He didn't say anything else but just stood there looking at me. Wondering what my deal was, I'm sure.

  I tried to laugh it off and make a joke about it, but the damage was done and the words were out there. The mood had changed.

  "I'm gonna head home and take a shower," he said. "You have a rehearsal tomorrow night, right? I'm probably going to catch a movie with Mom."

  "Okay. I'll talk to you tomorrow, then." I leaned in to kiss him, and it turned out all awkward. He leaned the same time I did. We bonked foreheads, and then barely touched lips before we pulled apart laughing.

  He opened my car door for me, and I started to get in but knew I couldn't leave it alone.

  "Cabe, I'm really sorry I said that. I had such a good time today. Thanks for bringing me."

  He slid his arms around me and lifted me to him, covering my lips with his and then setting me back down on my toes as he kissed my forehead. "No worries, Buttercup. I had a good time, too. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  I have to get myself under control. I don't know why I'm pushing his buttons. It's not about the dog, really. Not at all. I just feel like I want him to declare something. To say he loves me. To say we'll be together. He's here. He obviously cares. He's not going anywhere. So why do I feel the need to push him? Why do I need something more?

  Saturday, January 11th

  So I suppose the universe gave me a lesson in patience today. A little reminder about good things coming to those who wait.

  My bride, Rosaline, was from the Dominican Republic, and her groom, Thomas, was Jamaican. Knowing many of their guests would be on ‘island time’ and therefore tardy, Rosaline printed her invitations with a start time an hour earlier than the actual ceremony. Even with that, she reasoned most of them would fail to make it for the ceremony at all, so she only ordered thirty chairs. For two hundred invited guests.

  Talk about making your wedding planner nervous. I knew from past weddings that certain cultural groups practice a more relaxed attitude toward time, but I kept envisioning two hundred people yelling at me to get the ceremony started and find them more chairs.

  Rosaline laughed and told me not to worry, but I did.

  At four o'clock—the ceremony time stated on the invitation, mind you—I had not one single soul there except the minister and the guitarist.

  Two guests arrived at twenty after four, both apologizing for being late and neither from the islands.

  By the time five o'clock rolled around—the actual ceremony start time—nine co-workers and four neighbors had showed up, but no one else. Not even the bride or groom.

  To say I was freaking out is an understatement. I've never drank at work, but I was sorely tempted to ask the bartender to crack open a bottle of wine.

  Rosaline finally arrived about a quarter after five with ten family members. By the time Thomas got there twenty minutes later, we had a total of forty-seven guests. Out of two hundred.

  So when we started the ceremony an hour and forty-five minutes after the start time on the invitation, we had roughly one-fourth of the invited guests in attendance.

  It is possible I have bald spots from pulling out my hair in frustration. Rosaline laughed at me. "Don't worry, Tyler. They will come."

  We extended the cocktail reception until seven, by which time we had about sixty guests. I needed Valium, but Rosaline and Thomas took it all in stride. Like it was the most normal thing ever.

  "Don't worry, Tyler. They'll come." Rosaline patted my arm with a smile. "I told you. Island time."

  At seven-fifteen, the caterer demanded to serve dinner. It could sit idle on the stoves no longer.

  "That's fine," Rosaline said. "They'll eat when they get here. Don't worry, Tyler."

  Seventy guests went through the buffet meant for two hundred. The caterer nearly fainted.

  "What are we going to do with all this food?" she asked. I shook my head in disbelief. I had no answers.

  The pastry chef arrived with the cake around eight, and I gasped at the size of it. Six towering layers of cake. Enough to feed an army. Way too much for the eighty guests I had on hand.

  "Here's a box for leftover cake, and a box for the topper," said the pastry chef. "She wants to save it for her anniversary."

  "I think I'm going to need more boxes," I told her. "There's no way these people are going to eat all that cake."

  The chef laughed and shook her head. "I’ve worked for this family before. Don't worry. They'll come."

  That seemed to be the mantra of the night.

  I asked several times if they were ready for first dance and toast, but Rosaline and Thomas put me off each time.

  She would l
augh and say, "Don't worry, Tyler. They'll come. We'll do it when they get here."

  I began to feel sorry for the poor, delusional girl. She had invited all these people, bought a cake twice the size she needed, and less than half of her invited list came.

  But she never wavered in her certainty that they were coming. Never showed any doubt or disappointment.

  "Don't worry, Tyler" was all she would say.

  The caterer came to me sometime after nine to say she needed to pull the food soon due to the time it had been out.

  Rosaline was adamant the buffet should remain intact. "They'll be hungry when they come. Don't worry, Tyler."

  "Are you ready to do cake cutting?" I asked.

  She laughed at me. "You're so impatient. You must learn to wait. Other people don't live on our schedule. They live on their own. If we love them, we wait. Don't worry, Tyler."

  It sounded like sage advice on my own life, but it came from a girl who'd invited two hundred people to her wedding and only had eighty show, so I wasn't too sure how much faith I should put in it.

  But then, it happened. They came.

  It must have been around nine thirty when it started. A seemingly never-ending line of guests streamed in as if a bus—or on second thought, a train—had pulled up outside and unloaded its passengers. The noise level in the room tripled as they hugged and high-fived, filling the dance floor and every corner of the room.

  I stood to one side frazzled with exhaustion.

  Rosaline shouted as she whirled past me on the dance floor. "I told you not to worry, Tyler. I told you they'd come."

  They wiped out the buffet in less than twenty minutes. We had to hide the top anniversary layer when the cake ran out, and by midnight the caterer had sent someone to get additional ice and alcohol for a guest count hovering around two hundred and fifty.

  It is now a little after two in the morning, and I just dragged my tired ass in the door and collapsed across my bed to find the cutest little stuffed animal. A precious white doggie with a tag reading ‘Roscoe’ attached to a bright red collar. He had a note between his front paws.